


020 - The First 'I Love You'

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Mini Fic, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 13:25:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17468438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “could you write about you and van’s first "i love you”??"





	020 - The First 'I Love You'

Out of all the things you didn't like, romantic comedy films were probably top of the list. Well, maybe not the absolute top… but very close. You didn't like the clichés, you didn't like the always convenient weather, you didn't like how fucking problematic most of the narratives and characters were. Mushy, fuzzy declarations of love… just… not your thing. A very unfortunate coincidence, since you were dating Van McCann, romance personified.

He showed up for the first date with red roses. Red fucking long stem, stupidly expensive roses. He pulled your chair out for you and opened doors. He insisted on paying and walked you to your doorstep. You wanted to puke. If it weren't for the undertones of cigarette smoke on his clothes, the wild look in his eyes whenever you 'accidentally' brushed up against him, and his long eyelashes, you probably wouldn't have accepted a second date.

You demanded to organise the date, and Van complied. You took him to your favourite Thai place in a weird basement behind a bowling alley. You'd found it by accident one night on a drunk walk home with your best friend. Then, you went to a bar that had free pool. You won more games, therefore requested a prize. You made out with him against the wall next to the jukebox.

So, there was balance. Van's goodness let you feel at ease and cared for. Your edge showed Van that he didn't have to play nice all the time. It was all sorts of perfect.

After a few weeks, you met his friends. They were class. You liked how much they loved Van, and by the time he dragged you out of the bar you were literally best friends with Bondy. He was your exact type of weird. As you weaved through the city streets hand in hand with Van, you mused at how romantic it all was. There were fairy lights hanging from restaurant windows, and a warm breeze pushed autumn leaves along the ground. You skipped a few steps ahead of Van, and let him trail behind you lighting a cigarette. You turned around and walked backwards to watch him. God, he was fucking attractive. His bright blue eyes watched you, and the little freckles along the top of his nose were screaming to be kissed. He breathed out smoke and said, "What?" Grinning, you shook your head.

"Nothing. Nothing at all, McCann," and you turned back around and kept walking. Suddenly his arms were around you. You were walking awkwardly, stepping heavy from one foot to the other together. He moved the cigarette between your lips and you took a drag and breathed out. He kissed your neck and let you go, falling in line next to you.

At your doorstep Van bit down your neck hard, making you squeak. He laughed. You punched his shoulder and he made a mock-sad face. He smiled and looked at the ground, licking his lips. When he looked back up at you, he had this expression that you couldn't read. It looked like he was memorising every detail of your face.

"What?"

"You're very pretty," he said in a sickly sweet tone that he knew you'd hate.

"Fuck off," you spat, and he laughed again.

"And," he continued, the sweetness with edge now. "I love you."

It wasn't what you were expecting, and he knew that. He watched for a reaction, and all he got was shock. You just looked at him, but his smile didn't drop.

"What?" you said, more out of a need to fill the silence rather than the need for clarification. You knew what he said.

"I said, Y/N," sassy tone, "that I love you and that I am in love with, whether you like it or not."

"I do like it," you said immediately, quickly.

"Good,"

"No, like, I really do. And I like you. I love you too,"

"Yeah, I know." Cocky motherfucker. You fell into him and attached your hips to his hips, your hands to his hands, your lips to his lips. You knew you'd fall in love with Van McCann the moment he showed up on your doorstep with those stupid red roses.


End file.
